It Was Me
by Akito Souma
Summary: Yuki insults Akito. The consequence is more painful than he could have imagined... Please read and review!


Author's note: I don't own Fruits Basket or any of its characters. Natsuka Takaya does.

IT WAS ME

No one had ever opposed him.

But I could see **it** coming. I've known him long enough to tell that when he becomes very still and quiet, asking questions about such things, in such a soft, passive voice—a world of pain is only seconds away from the one he's talking to.

It was me.

At the time I wondered, could they really blame me for saying what I did? It wasn't as though every single person in that room—and indeed, in that family—hadn't dearly wished to say to him what I had decided to say…at least once, I know, they have all wished it.

And it wasn't as though he didn't deserve it. Treating us all like animals—worse than animals! It was high time, I decided (caught up in the heat of the moment), that someone gave him a taste of his own medicine.

It was me.

I didn't even mean to say it. And I must confess, I nearly fainted with fear the moment the words had left my lips. After all—no one had ever opposed him. No one had ever **dared** to speak back to him, to question any decision he made, to send him even one look that could be interpreted as—ungrateful.

I was the first.

It hurts me now to think that I can't even remember what he said to me to prompt the explosion that came. I think…the many years of abuse I had suffered at his hands, kept a secret for so long, had in that instant become unbearable to me. But it's a poor excuse.

"Or what? You'll hurt me! Now let's all feel sorry for Akito because he's dying! He'll beat us half to death, because he's only got two years, and it's so **unfair** that he's dying!" I screamed this at him as he stood over me with his hand raised, poised to strike. And it wasn't my voice that was screaming, but someone else's—the voice of a person filled with raw, ugly, desperate anger. Was it really me? I didn't recognize myself.

About half a second passed. The room was heavy with deafening silence. There was a sudden tightness in my lungs. But I didn't dare to breathe.

As I stared into his eyes, I waited for the familiar signs of rage to become evident. I watched for his eyes to flash, for his teeth to bare, for his face to turn deathly-white and for his whole body, down to the last finger and toe, to become rigid. I braced myself for a new definition of pain—broken bones, bruised organs, profuse bleeding that would lead to my much-deserved death (which according to Souma family law, he had every right to give).

None of these things happened.

Instead, everyone saw something they had never seen before. The face of Akito Souma when he's been hurt.

I had never believed it possible. But there it was, right there in front of me. The proof that he was human. That his blood was not something that flowed from disease, or some mysterious delicate condition—but from a body with a heart, with tears to cry.

His eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed, searching for some bruising retort, some way to punish me with poisonous words. The hand that was raised came slowly down, and trembling, covered the lips that were also trembling.

He lashed out then and struck me on my right cheek. The blow knocked me over and I lay there feeling sick—**this** pain was something new and I did not know how to receive it.

I heard him gasp, and then it was very quiet. He did not touch me for a moment but stood over me in silence and I closed my eyes tight, because I didn't want to see what was happening. When I heard the first sob, I thought I must have been mistaken.

I remember thinking the words, "I'm sorry." But I didn't say them.

I thought, "He's not crying." And then I heard him crying and I knew it was real.

He kicked me in the stomach, reached down and slapped me, grabbed my hair and threw me facedown on the floor…let go and grabbed me again…let go…

This went on for some time. And the strange thing about this beating wasn't that it didn't really hurt, but that he seemed so desperate to be angry. As though I was taking away everything he had because he just couldn't get angry enough to really hurt me.

When at last he abandoned the effort, I wished he'd kept at it a little bit longer, because his hands leaving my hair were gentle and the guilt was burning holes in my stomach.

He backed away, and I looked up at him then and saw the tears. And I noticed for the first time, as he was looking at me like I'd betrayed him, that you could see the veins through his delicate skin. Had he always been that transparent? His whole body was shaking like a leaf in the wind and I thought he was going to fall, but he turned and glided out of the room and sat down on the porch outside. His back was to us. I could see his birds flocking to him, singing out for his attention. But he ignored them. Something else he'd never done before.

I started to get to my feet…Perhaps I was going to leave. Perhaps I was going to apologize. I don't think I knew, but I didn't like the feeling of being on my knees.

The instant I tried to get up though, Shigure was at my side and he slapped me with such force that I fell backwards and looked up at him in astonishment. This was my cousin Shigure who appalled the use of violence and had never raised a hand to harm anyone. And he had struck me…me, whom he'd promised to protect.

His eyes were filled with such hate that it caused me to shudder. "Well done, Yuki," he hissed.

And before I could reply, he'd turned towards the porch and was on his way outside, to offer comfort if he could.

Akito slammed the door in his face.

Shigure stood there with his arm propped against the door, his face buried in the crook of his elbow, breathing hard. I sat on the floor, wondering what I should do. If I tried to get up again, someone else would surely hit me—the anger in that room was stifling.

Hatori saved me the trouble of speaking. "That wasn't very wise, Yuki—or very kind. I strongly suggest that when Akito has had a chance to cool off—if he ever does—that you go to him and apologize…and beg his forgiveness."

"Kind?" I said. I knew he was right, but despite everything, I still felt angry. And to hear that I hadn't been kind to **Akito**—someone who didn't seem to have a kind bone in his entire body!—was just outrageous.

Shigure faced me and said, "Six months, Yuki. Not two years, six months."

I stared at him wordlessly, my mouth hanging open from the shock, as he left. Hatori went after him and then Kagura, and then Rin who, as she left, muttered, "Good riddance," under her breath so that Akito wouldn't hear.

Kyou and I were the only ones left.

I looked at him expecting to see mockery and disdain on his face—he'd been waiting all his life to see me mess up at something and this was it.

Instead, I saw sympathy.

"Somebody would have said it sooner or later, if you hadn't." He said softly. "We were all thinking it."

I turned away because I felt as though I might cry. He gave me my privacy and I was left alone with only a thin paper door separating me and the person I had feared all my life.

I swallowed my tears…they were a luxury I had not allowed myself since early childhood. I stared hard at the door, my heart beating fast; I was going to do something stupid.

I stood up shakily and watched the stillness of his shadow. The birds had gone and his crying had stopped as soon as it had begun—I am sure he found it unpleasant since there had never been a moment in his life when he hadn't been strong. That strength was forced upon him.

I thought about that. About how our family chose for him to die when he was just a baby…decided that he would be the one to make the sacrifice without ever asking him if he was willing. He was. He hurt us all. But he was willing.

Six months…It grew louder and louder in my mind and I moved towards the door where the deadly silence lurked. Six months…

With every step, I berated myself. I'd known him since we were kids; I knew his mood swings better than anyone else. I had been his slave, his whipping boy. He was probably planning all the ways he'd torture me, he was planning it right this very minute. To open that door and step outside could mean death, because he'd lose control and there would be no one to help me.

I knocked on the door right above the handle and there was a long pause. It was so difficult to breathe. If I was smart, I would go and use my medicine. If I was smart…

"Yes," I heard his soft, toneless voice say. I pulled open the door and stepped outside.

He looked at me and then looked away, staring off into the distance where the sun was setting, staining the sky with gold and red. His face was completely expressionless. He said nothing.

Something occurred to me then that had not occurred to me in all my years of living with him. I thought that perhaps this was his way of hiding the pain he felt. I remembered that he often looked that way when he was even more ill than usual, and I realized it was true. He hid his pain by pretending to feel nothing. It was a revelation for me, that he could have his feelings hurt—that he even had feelings to hurt. I had always been too afraid to see.

I closed the door behind me, watching him closely. There was still time to run if he got angry…he—he was so tiny, so frail. I could see how his kimono was just falling off of him, he'd grown so thin. It had never fit him properly and he'd always been thin, but now he looked like a skeleton and his clothes were swallowing him. Why hadn't I noticed?

The sound of his breathing was ragged, and he leaned against the doorway for support. He was so weak.

Six months…

I took a chance and moved closer. I knelt down next to him, so close that he could just reach out and strangle me if he chose.

He did not.

I was going to apologize. I was going to say sorry.

"I…I…" I couldn't finish. He was going to hit me. I felt so…

"I couldn't breathe!" I found myself saying. "It was my asthma! I couldn't breathe! And I was sick, and—"

He looked at me and he waited, listening. He didn't hit me. He didn't…. I saw his eyes, cold and terrifying, cobalt-blue. But they weren't so cold and they weren't so terrifying. They were—they were beautiful. And I

fell into his lap, crying hysterically, clutching at his robes, saying, "No, no!"

He ran his fingers through my hair and made soothing noises. "It's alright," he said.

"No. They lied. Six months! Six—!"

"I should have told you."

"Nooooo," I wailed, and thought I'd die from the pain. Why did it hurt so much? My head was in his lap and I was crying like a baby, like a small child would cry in its mother's lap—he wasn't my mother. But it felt like he was, I realized. He'd beaten and belittled me all my life but at least he'd been there when she hadn't—he'd always wanted me, had tried in his own way to protect me. And she—had given me away, had never called, never sent a birthday card…He'd always remembered my birthday. He'd told me he loved me and now…he was being taken from me, so much sooner than he was supposed to be taken.

I'd been so frightened and so angry. I'd hardly spoken to him at all during the two years since I'd moved out of the Main House—not unless he'd forced me to. And in six months he'd be gone…I'd been so stupid.

"Why," I gasped.

"I've been asking myself that for nineteen years, Yuki. And in the end, the only answer I can find is…Why not? Somebody's life had to be hell, somebody had to die—why not me?"

And hearing him say that with such calm acceptance, the reality of it hit me. He was really going to be gone soon. It shocked me into silence.

I gazed up at him, the tears sliding down my face. I felt closer to him than I'd ever felt to anyone, I realized. I couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in my life. He'd caused me so much pain, but he'd also held my hand as a child…he taught me how to make things grow. He fed me when I was a baby, and he taught me to sing. My first song had been, "In the Garden," and he first sang it to me while we were actually in the garden. I was two and he was five and I could still remember it. I think it's the first memory I have.

I mouthed the words and he smiled, wiping my tears away.

"Sit up," he said. "Sing."

And so I did. I leaned back against his shoulder and he put his arm around me and we sang together, very quietly because both of us were shy. We were like a parent and a child in that moment, and there was no pain and no death, only the sound of our voices rising and falling together.

"I love you." I said when we were finished.

He took my hand in his and held it out. The birds were moving about in the trees. One of them flew down and landed on my outstretched hand, gripping my fingers with its tiny little feet.

I smiled with delight. I had never been able to coax out the birds on my own. It was a special gift that Akito had; I had never heard of anyone else who could do it. The birds had always loved him. How wonderful it was that I could hold one in my hand, with his help. It was a gift that he was giving me.

The bird flew away and I stared after it, feeling against my back his chest expanding with each new breath—it **felt** painful, to feel him breathe. I worried that I was crushing his fragile body with my weight.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Everything hurts me." He replied.

"Should I move?"

"No. It's a good pain."

We were still for a minute and I thought about his pain and started crying again.

"It's time for you to go home." He said.

"I want to stay with you." I whispered, sniffing.

"There's not much daylight left. Hatori can't drive in the dark."

"Let me stay." I begged.

"Oh? I thought you wanted to leave so badly!" He snapped, pushing me away.

"Don't you want me? Don't you love me, Akito!"

"Why are you asking me this?" He turned away, and that dark look that I knew so well came over him once again.

"I need you." I said, in a small voice. A child's voice.

"Go away."

I stood up to leave. Once again, he'd hurt me. Why did he want to hurt me now, when he'd been so kind to me before? I would never understand it.

"Close the door behind you." He said.

I opened the door and paused, looking back at him.

"Go." He glared at me. "I don't want you here!"

I nodded. "Yes. I will go. But first answer me this: why me? Why did you choose **me** for your scapegoat?"

I stared at him, expecting to hear, "Because I hate you." Or even, "Why not?" Perhaps he would refuse to answer. Perhaps he would hit me.

He stared back at me, and the darkness was replaced with sadness. "It was you." He said.

"What?"

"It was you who made me cry that day in the garden. When I realized that…to die would mean I'd lose you. So I hurt you back. To make sure…you wouldn't forget me when I was gone."

"You cried?" I said in amazement.

"You didn't see. No one ever saw me when I was crying."

"You cried…in private? Where no one could see?"

"No. In public, in private, everywhere—I'm always crying. I don't use my tears."

"Your tears…You didn't want to lose me?"

"Yes."

"You love me?"

"Yes. Go away."

"But—"

"Go home!"

"Akito…I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said those mean things."

His anger vanished. "I know."

"I don't want you to die. I—I don't want to lose you, either." My voice broke and I was crying again. I didn't feel sixteen. I felt so much younger, so desperate for the love of the one who'd raised me. But I didn't know how to be good. I didn't know how to stop his anger.

He sighed and got up, one hand pressed against the door to steady him as he walked. "Come here." He said. And with his arm around me, he led me into the house.

He rang the bell and we waited while one of the servants fetched Hatori. I stood still and quiet as he held me, my face against his neck, memorizing the feel of him and the smell of him, desperate to not forget.

Hatori arrived and by his stony silence I could tell he was still angry with me. Akito released me and turned me around. I wiped at my face, embarrassed to be caught crying. Hatori's face registered surprise but he said nothing.

"Take Yuki home." Akito said.

I turned back and told him, "I want to stay with you. I can skip school tomorrow…"

Akito stared at me. "Are you sure you want to?" His voice was flat and his eyes were cold. Nowhere was there emotion, and everywhere was the promise of pain. The quickening of my heartbeat told me that I was still afraid of him.

I straightened up, putting away the childish urge to cling to him, although I avoided his eyes. "Perhaps," I said, hearing the familiar tremor in my voice, "That's not a good idea."

"I agree with you." Akito said. "You need to go to school." But we both knew school wasn't the issue.

I looked up at him quickly. "I'll come back!" I said. "I'll come back…tomorrow." And we both knew I wouldn't be back tomorrow.

I didn't want to lose him, but…

I went with Hatori. Akito stayed behind in his room, tormenting and consoling himself with his solitude. The sun set and darkness veiled the sky soon after I was home. I stood outside, staring into the night, and I knew that Akito was still sitting in that room in the dark, locked inside his own dark thoughts as he pondered death.

The thought of him terrified me. The thought of his death was…. Something I couldn't think of for long. But I had one beautiful thing to hold onto after that day. It was me, he said, me that he didn't want to lose. Me he had love for, deep down in his dark, twisted heart.

It was me.


End file.
